


Chicago Hope

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: Challenge Response, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-01-01
Updated: 2006-01-01
Packaged: 2018-11-10 16:10:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11130216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: He just knows that right now, somewhere a ghost Mountie is sitting on a cloud or something, looking inanely pleased.





	Chicago Hope

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

Chicago Hope

## Chicago Hope

  
by Marcella Polman  


Disclaimer: This is not an original story. The characters starring belong to a bunch of people who have my eternal gratitude. 

Story Notes: Thanks to Cesperanza's Amnesty for DS writers on DS_flashfiction, I was able to write a legitimate response to the Threesome Challenge. During the process, I discovered that even a sensitive soul like me can write a deathfic. (I also learnt that deathfic readers are much braver than the authors who feed them). 

* * *

  
  
It feels weird not to be all depressed on the flight to Chicago. The mixedness of it makes him restless. He's missing Ben of course, but he's also happy because less than three hours ago he left Ben's warm bed, after having been thoroughly cuddled by Ben's warm hands and mouth and body. The memories he has of the last six months are all greatness, and he's good at reliving them. (It's a blessing that his tray table is down, so no one can see the awkward fit of his jeans.) From the first kiss, the evening of the first day of their search for the Hand of Franklin (which they didn't find of course) to the last fuck this very morning. Ben is an amazing lover (which is, of course, a surprise to no one). He's way better than Stella ever was. Ben's focused, never distracted. He's focused on _Ray_. And his blow jobs ...  
  
Ray grins. They bargained that one. Not the actual giving head - that was instantly part of the deal - but the way to name it. Blow job, Ray said. Fellatio, Ben insisted. So they had decided on expanding their vocabularies. Ben learnt to say "blow job"; very slowly and cautiously like he was tasting the words (it was, in fact, a big turn on to see and hear him say it). Ray learnt how to pronounce "fellatio". He once practiced saying it while he was doing it. The result wasn't very apprehensible - or very effective for that matter - but it had been fun anyway.  
  
In a couple of weeks he will be back in Inuvik, taking the next steps in arranging to become a Canadian citizen.   
  
That took some bargaining too. Ben was very worried that he wouldn't be happy in Canada, but Ray told him in no uncertain terms that a) the last months - in Canada - had been the happiest of his life, b) this place - Canada - was a gay-friendly country in comparison with the US, c) Inuvik, North West Territories, Canada, had a much lower crime rate than Chicago, Illinois, US, and hence (yes, Ray had said "hence" just to get his point across) it was safer for Mounties and cops. So the outcome had been Canada three, United States nil, and adding to this score was the fact that Ben belonged in the Arctic and that Ray wanted to be with Ben more than anything.  
  
"I love you," Ben had said, touched, and more importantly, convinced that Ray was right. Then he had insisted that other, practical and much less interesting matters be discussed.   
  
I love you, Ray smiles, staring out of the window at a Ben-shaped cloud as he recalls what had happened _after_ their practical matters discussion.  
  
***  
  
It's weird to be back at the station. Worse, his gut tells him that something is completely wrong. People don't greet him. He didn't expect they'd react as if he were the long lost son, but after six months of absence he'd thought they would at least be pleased to see him.  
  
They are not. Frannie is crying, Huey is escorting her outside. Ray is convinced that he looks as pale as a black guy ever can get. They are avoiding his glare.  
  
There's someone sitting at his desk. A bald guy. _Vecchio_? What is this, the twilight zone? Vecchio is supposed to be in Florida, with his new wife Stella - the former Attorney Kowalski - bowling his head off.  
  
Dewey states that the Lieu wants to talk to him. In a very gentle tone. Fuck, what the hell is going on?  
  
"Ray," the Lieutenant says. Not "Vecchio", not "Kowalski", not even "Stanley", but "Ray". "I have terrible news. Fraser has died."  
  
What?!  
  
As ludicrous as this is, Ray knows in his gut that it's true. The flare of panic that knocks the air out of his lungs lasts about ten seconds. Then he gets terribly calm. And listens.   
  
Ben has been shot in the chest yesterday. Twice. He was confronting a couple of gun-carrying goons. Without back-up of course. Stupid fucking asshole.  
  
"According to Buck Frobisher he died instantly," Welsh says.  
  
Well, that's a sweet consolation.  
  
"When's the funeral?" Ray asks.  
  
"Thursday."  
  
"I have to get back to arrange things."  
  
"Yeah." Welsh looks at him. "Ray, I can't tell you how to cope with this loss; you have to find your own way. But would you please consider taking Vecchio to Canada with you?"  
  
"Vecchio? Why?"  
  
"I'd be much more comfortable if I knew you had company. Besides, Vecchio suffered a great loss as well. We all did."   
  
The Lieu's tone is soft and seems to directly touch the rough outer side of this huge ball of pain inside Ray.   
  
He shakes it off. He can't afford to fall apart now; he has to keep a clear head.  
  
"Why's he here anyway?" he asks.  
  
"The bowling alley - and his marriage to Stella - didn't work out."  
  
"She back as well?"  
  
It turns out she's not. She's still in Florida, arranging to sell the alley at a good price. Figures.  
  
"Talk to Vecchio, Ray," Welsh says.  
  
And that he does. Reluctantly.   
  
The Style Pig seems to be an entirely different guy than when Ray first met him. And that shouldn't be a surprise maybe. At lot has happened since. Vecchio shook off his "Armando Languistini" identity, got shot, got better, got married, moved to Florida and got separated. It turned him into a depressed and pale looking man who addresses Ray with his first name in a tone of voice that completely lacks arrogance, sarcasm and contempt.  
  
***  
  
Ray starts his return trip to Inuvik that same afternoon, in Vecchio's company. They don't exchange many words. And what words would fit the situation? "I've never felt more miserable in my life - how about you?" Ben has _died_ , for god sakes.  
  
Ray knows that he's hurting, but he doesn't feel it, not really. He's not in denial - Ben is dead, Ben is _dead_ \- but he feels ... numb. Vecchio is sitting next to him, pale and silent.  
  
They arrive at the cabin late the next day. As he opens the door, Ray knows that he's going to crack. He manages to switch on the light, but his knees feel weak already and his fingers are trembling.  
  
The smell - it's faint, but it's the smell of home, of Ben. Ray expects to hear Ben's voice any second now, to feel Ben's strong arms wrapping around him. It's a very real and physical anticipation. He knows the ball of pain inside is very near exploding.  
  
But he walks to the bedroom. The bed is made; Ben's regular clothes are on the chair in the corner, neatly folded. The ball inside starts to crack, but doesn't burst.  
  
He lies down on the bed, on Ben's side. He removes the bed spread, rests his head on the pillow, smells Ben. More cracks.   
  
He puts his hand under the pillow, finds the t-shirt he has left for Ben, smells himself, and Ben, and cum. And starts crying.   
  
The ball of pain devours him, and it hurts like hell. He doesn't resist it. He cries until he is completely drained. Until he notices that he's hurting all over - physically. His eyes are sore, his throat aches, and his shoulders and back are strained.  
  
Somebody pats his calf. "I'm going to make you some coffee."   
  
Vecchio. Has been sitting on the edge of the bed next to him. For how long?  
  
He stands and washes his face at the bathroom sink. His gut clenches at the sight of Ben's towel, folded over the towel rack with Mountie precision - but he has no tears left, for now.  
  
He meets Vecchio in the living room, drinks his coffee, thanks the guy.  
  
"We'd better get some sleep," Vecchio declares. "I'll take the couch."  
  
Ray gets him a pillow (his own, with a clean case), sheets, and some blankets.   
  
"Good night," he offers, leaving. And then he realizes that there's something he wants to be clear. "You know, Ben and me ... we were ..." He doesn't say it, suddenly afraid that it'll hurt too much to do so.  
  
"I know, Stan,' Vecchio says quietly.  
  
"You know?"  
  
"Yes. I don't know you all that well of course, but the kind of sorrow you showed earlier was not what I would have expected from a man who'd lost his partner and best friend. I don't think it was coincidental that you fell apart in the bedroom. A bedroom that has a double bed that wasn't there when I visited last time. And I know the cabin doesn't have a guestroom." Vecchio looks at him, reassuringly maybe. "I already arrived at the conclusion that Fraser and you were lovers, Stanley."  
  
"And you aren't disgusted?"  
  
"No." Vecchio seems to want to add something, but just repeats, "No."  
  
This is not what Ray would have expected from the Style Pig. For some reason, it makes him say, "I'm sorry about you and Stella."  
  
"Yeah, well." Vecchio shrugs. "Don't worry about it. Just try to get some sleep."  
  
***  
  
He sleeps okay - under the circumstances. It takes a while before he falls asleep, but when he does his sleep is uninterrupted and dreamless.  
  
When he walks into the kitchen the next morning, coffee is almost ready.  
  
"Good morning, Stanley. Did you sleep well?"   
  
It hurts. It could have been a Ben-line, save for the use of his first name. It's not Vecchio's fault though, so he says, "Yeah. Slept okay."  
  
"Good. Now, I think we'd better get some breakfast before we see Buck-"   
  
Vecchio stops. His eyes widen a little. Ray knows that he was about to add, "and Fraser."  
  
Vecchio is right; they're going see Ben's dead body as well.  
  
Going out and having breakfast is hell. Ray bumps into a lot of acquaintances who all look very sad and offer their condolences. It sucks. Whoever said that a sorrow shared was a sorrow halved must have been unhinged. It hurts like hell.  
  
He takes two, maybe three bites of his breakfast. Vecchio doesn't eat much more, although he insists Ray does (and doesn't _that_ remind him of somebody).  
  
Buck's face is very sad as he greets them. "Ray," he says. "I cannot begin to express how sorry-"   
  
"Then don't bother," Ray snaps. "Please," he adds in a more quiet tone. "How's Diefenbaker?"  
  
"Depressed. He's in the kitchen. I can't seem to find a way to make him eat something."  
  
Ray goes to have a look and gets his face licked by the wolf. Sad and solemn licks they are - not enthusiastic at all. "Yeah, Dief, it sucks," he says.  
  
Buck takes them to the place that's used as a funeral home. Ray has braced himself for the sight of Ben, and he isn't overwhelmed.   
  
They prepped him well. In fact, Ben looks ridiculously unharmed for a guy that has been shot dead. His face is as beautiful as always. Ray touches it. Not because he thinks that Ben might be "asleep" or something stupid like that, but because it's the last chance he has to ever touch him. Ben's cheek is cold; colder than it ever was. Ray's eyes sting. "Asshole," he whispers.  
  
Someone puts a hand on his back. "He didn't do it on purpose," Vecchio says.  
  
Ray wants to retort that he _knows_ that, goddammit. But then he realizes that this anger he feels has a lot to do with the idea that Ben cheated him. If he'd been more careful, if he had called for back-up ... if he'd just been still _alive_.  
  
His knees buckle, but Vecchio catches him, guides him to a chair in the corner, and sits next to him - in silence, while Ray cries for about an hour.  
  
***  
  
That night the nightmares start. Ray's happy, with Ben, the love of his life. Then there are goons everywhere and they shoot Ben and he moves wildly and falls and there's a lot of blood gushing onto the white snow, and Ray screams and screams but there's no sound. At all.  
  
He awakes with a start, sitting straight-up in bed. The door opens and the light's switched on.  
  
"Stanley, what's wrong?"  
  
He's sweating and he's out of breath.  
  
"Nightmare?"  
  
He nods.  
  
Vecchio sits himself on the edge of the bed, watching him catching his breath. "Tell me," he says.  
  
Ray does. And although reality isn't any better than his nightmare, having somebody alive sitting next to him does help a little.  
  
***  
  
The funeral is perfect. Every one of Ben's acquaintances is present. The ceremony is beautiful and so is the weather. Figures. Ben wouldn't have deserved any less.  
  
When they're back at the cabin, Ray's exhausted.  
  
"Get some rest," Vecchio says. "In the meantime, I'll-" He stops. "Have you thought about what you want to do with Fraser's stuff?"  
  
Ray knows what Vecchio is referring to. He knows this has to be done. And he _has_ thought about it. So he ignores the pain in his chest, and says, "Can't take the furniture." (Not even the bed they made together.) "Buck's in charge of that. But I will take Ben's personal belongings, his books and CDs, and his diaries and the journals of his father."  
  
"What about his clothes?"  
  
Ray blinks. "I'll leave them to Buck as well. Except for his leather jacket and the stuff that's in the laundry basket."  
  
He looks up to see how Vecchio will take the last part, but the guy doesn't flinch and just says, "I understand."  
  
Do you now? Ray wonders.   
  
"There's a trunk in the shed," he says.  
  
***  
  
The goons are laughing. "You're very attached to this guy, aren't you?" they ask Ray. He's tied to Ben; their backs are pressed against each other. "At least this way you won't see him die." They shoot Ben. In the head. Warm blood runs along Ray's neck and shoulders.  
  
By the time he realizes it's a nightmare, the light's already on, and Vecchio is watching him with a worried look on his face. "Goddammit Stanley, I'm so sorry."  
  
***  
  
It's nearly midnight when they arrive at O'Hare three days later. Ray signs Diefenbaker's quarantine papers and turns to Vecchio to say goodbye, but the guy stops him with a gesture of his hand and says, "You know, Stan, I don't like the idea of you going home alone. Mind if I stayed over at your place?"  
  
Ray is about to say that he does; he's not a baby, for god sakes. But Vecchio hasn't been a burden so far. On the contrary, it's good to have him around when he's reeling from the nightmares. So he says, "No, I don't. Thanks."  
  
There's another nightmare that night, of course. And there's Vecchio sitting on the edge of his bed until he has calmed down.  
  
Ray awakes from hearing sounds coming from the bathroom. Disoriented, he thinks Inuvik. And Ben. Then he knows it's Chicago and Vecchio. It hurts.  
  
Vecchio insists that they go out and have breakfast. Ray just has coffee with a lot of sugar. Vecchio doesn't seem to notice.  
  
"I'm going to drop by at the station to talk to Welsh," he says. "And then at my mother's to pick up some stuff. I will be back at six, okay?"  
  
"You don't have to ...' Ray starts.  
  
But Vecchio shakes his head. "No, Stan, I think I do."  
  
So Ray resigns.  
  
He spends the afternoon dancing. Angrily. He tires himself out, and then starts crying. And cries until he feels like a desert.  
  
Vecchio is back at six, having done some groceries, apparently. He's got Chinese for dinner and some stuff for breakfast. There's a third bag as well.  
  
"My personal stuff," he explains. "I'm sleeping on your couch for as long as it takes. You'd better get used to it, Stanley."  
  
For as long as what takes? Ray wants to ask. But part of him likes to be taken care of. Another part hates it, so that evens the score and leaves it up to Vecchio. Who seems to have a very strong opinion on the matter.  
  
***  
  
The next morning - after a nightly interruption of their sleep by yet another of Ray's nightmares, of course - Vecchio goes back to work. He knocks on Ray's bedroom door, sticks his head around it, tells Ray to take it easy, and orders him to keep his cell phone connected and to call him if he needs him.  
  
"I'll be fine," Ray mutters.  
  
He stays in bed a couple of hours more, then gets up, showers, reads a few entries of Ben's last diary, cries, dances, and decides that he absolutely won't be able to take another day like this, no matter what they say about the correct way to grieve the death of a lover. He needs something to _do_ , goddammit.  
  
At two, Vecchio calls to inquire if he has already eaten anything today.  
  
"Jeez, stop it, you're not my mother," Ray snaps.  
  
"Doesn't mean that I don't worry about you," Vecchio informs him, unfazed. "See you tonight, Stanley. Eat something."  
  
Informing a guy is something Ray can do too. When Vecchio is back, he informs him that he wants to resume working, starting tomorrow. The dickhead misunderstands, pleads against the idea, assuming that they are _discussing_ the matter.   
  
"Shut up," Ray says. "It's none of your business."  
  
"Fine. Talk to Welsh," Vecchio snaps back.   
  
But at three a.m. he's sitting on the edge of Ray's bed, listening to yet another horror story.   
  
***  
  
Lieutenant Welsh is willing to humor him. Reluctantly.  
  
"All right, you can partner with Vecchio," he says. "But you take it easy - I want none of that suicidal crap happening, is that clear?"  
  
Ray offers him a "Yes, Sir," and is free to go.  
  
Vecchio fills him in on a couple of cases he has been working on. They do some stakeout work and go talk to a snitch. It's good to be back. Well, no, it's not. It hurts like hell to do the stuff he used to do with Ben without Ben, but it's better than not doing it with Ben still being dead. And Vecchio is a good cop, he has to admit.  
  
Although the nights still suck because the nightmares are relentless, working works for him and at the end of the week Ray feels kind of normal again at daytime. He instantly feels guilty at realizing it, for Ben died less than two weeks ago.  
  
"It's okay, Stan," Vecchio says. "Whatever you're feeling, it's okay."  
  
Ray does a double take. Is this the same guy he met seven months ago?  
  
***  
  
They have two days off. On the first Vecchio asks him what he wants to do.  
  
"Going to the gym," Ray says. "Practicing my boxing skills."  
  
"Good. See you later."  
  
Apparently Vecchio isn't planning on coming along. It's a surprise - so far, the guy has shown a lot of persistence in wanting to keep an eye on him - and Ray isn't sure if he's relieved or disappointed.  
  
"Will you be here when I come back?"  
  
"Yeah, save for doing some groceries I don't have to go anywhere. Have a good workout."   
  
The guys at the gym are surprised to see him. They offer to spar, but Ray declines. He works the heavy bag for a while, but stops as he realizes that it has a same side-effect as dancing; it shakes loose the tears. And he really doesn't want to cry in front of the others.  
  
When he returns to his apartment, he finds Vecchio reading the newspaper. It hurts, coming home and finding someone waiting for him, doing something domestic - that someone not being Ben.  
  
Vecchio inquires after his gym experience and Ray responds that it has been okay. Then Vecchio looks at him and says his name in a casual tone that immediately gets Ray's attention.  
  
"Stan, I have been thinking. That couch of yours is very nice to sit on and all, but it isn't exactly comfortable as a bed. I've noticed that your apartment has a spare room which you seem to be using as a -" trashcan? -"closet."  
  
"Yeah? So?"  
  
"I thought that if we would rearrange the stuff in there a little, maybe there's room for me to put a bed."  
  
Ray stares at him. "You're asking me if you can move _in_ with me?"  
  
"Yeah, that's what it comes down to."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Sadness, basically. Loneliness. Yours. And mine."  
  
Ray's jaw drops. Vecchio has been invaded by some really mushy body snatchers - he's certain of it. This is not the guy that successfully fooled the mob for over a year pretending to be a member of the much feared Iguana family. Can't be. Maybe Stella got the better of him.  
  
"Okay," he says slowly. Because, although he might not be thrilled by the idea of having Vecchio as a roommate, he finds he isn't put off by it either.  
  
They clean out the spare room. It doesn't take long; it contains mostly trash anyway.  
  
The next day they collect Diefenbaker. The wolf is pleased to see them, but he doesn't behave like he's overcome with excitement. He's still a severely depressed guy, Ray can tell.  
  
***  
  
Vecchio is his partner and his roommate now. And it's working.  
  
They're good partners. It's easy to be a duet with Vecchio. Takes a lot less arguing than partnering with Fraser did. Most of the time, they have the exact same ideas about how to go about a case. And when they're stuck, one of them manages to look at the matter from a Fraser-angle - which enables them to move again.  
  
Ray isn't sure if Ben himself has something to do with it. He never believed in supernatural stuff, until Ben told him about his father, or, to be honest, until he saw the old guy with his own eyes. Once, he's certain that Ben is looking at them, standing in a corner of the bullpen, a couple of feet away from the desk they're sitting at. But when he blinks, the Mountie is gone.  
  
Vecchio is a good roommate too. He decides he wants to learn how to cook, and using his mother's recipes he's learning fast. Ray puts on a couple of pounds, which pleases Vecchio to no end. And it _is_ a compliment, of course.  
  
***  
  
Time passes, and slowly things change. The nightmares haunt him less often. Ray finds himself smiling at people's jokes occasionally. He finds he can look out the window and feel pleased that the weather is nice. He finds he can have a pissy argument with Dief without his eyes beginning to sting because it reminds him of the pissy arguments he had with Ben (or the ones Ben had with Dief). And he finds that he can engage in a personal conversation with Vecchio.  
  
It's caused by Stella's return to Chicago and the arrival of the divorce papers. Vecchio's mood drops.  
  
"Did you love her a lot?" Ray asks.  
  
"Didn't get the time to start," Vecchio says.  
  
"Then why did you marry her?"  
  
"I was in love." Vecchio heaves a very deep sigh. "I had been Armando Languistini for so long - and I hated that guy. He was scum. I was scum. Devoid of any feeling except hatred. I loathed myself." He looks up. "And then I could be me again. I was allowed to feel. What better way than to fall in love? I couldn't have avoided it if I'd tried. Which I didn't. I grabbed the first opportunity that presented itself."  
  
"Stella."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Then what happened?"  
  
"I wanted us to connect," Vecchio says. "To really connect, you know. I needed that. I had been deprived of human contact far too long. So I tried to reach her, tried really hard. But she wouldn't let me in. Called me a wuss." He sounds clearly indignant. "Me! A wuss!"  
  
Ray can't help smiling. Finally he gets a glimpse of the Style Pig and its wounded male pride.  
  
He realizes that the subject of conversation is far from funny, though. He says, "She's a tough guy, the Stella. She does have a softer side, but she thinks it's a weakness and she hates it. I learnt the knack of making her feel comfortable enough to let it show occasionally, but I lost it years before the divorce came through."  
  
"I never managed to make her feel that comfortable," Vecchio says miserably. "Not even once."  
  
Ray thinks it's a good idea to lighten the atmosphere a little. He stands, and on his way to the kitchen he pats Vecchio's shoulder. One guy to another, he says, "You want another beer?"   
  
When he's opening the cans at the counter, his bracelet gets stuck in one of them. When he yanks it loose, it breaks.  
  
He puts the bracelet in a drawer, planning on having it repaired soon. The first couple of days his wrist feels naked. Then he gets used to the feeling and forgets about the bracelet all together.  
  
***  
  
It's his birthday. When he awakes, he realizes with a dull ache in his chest that he's now the same age Ben was when he died. Thirty-nine.  
  
Vecchio has bought him a present; a Procol Harem CD to replace the one Diefenbaker gnawed on. For a smart animal that dog can be a remarkable stupid dog, sometimes.  
  
Ray has chosen not to take the day off, and he is rewarded for it. They catch a big fish; a couple of goons they had been tracing for weeks.  
  
Vecchio makes a large Hawaiian pizza with extra pineapple. (They kept it a secret from Sandor that he can pull this stunt, of course).   
  
They watch the Great Escape on video. They've both seen it before, obviously. When there are just five minutes to go, Vecchio stands and announces, "Be right back."  
  
Ray wants to stop the tape, but Vecchio shakes his head. "Don't bother. I know how it ends."  
  
He takes his time; the credits are running when he returns. With two packages.  
  
"Congratulations on your birthday," he says, handing over the first.  
  
It contains Ray's bracelet - repaired. He's actually touched by Vecchio's thoughtfulness.   
  
The second one is a jewelry box - with a necklace inside. Again, Ray is touched. In a different, rather weird way.  
  
Vecchio's green eyes are focused on his face - like the reply is really going to matter to him. "Do you like it?"  
  
Ray nods. "Yeah. It's beautiful."   
  
It _is_ beautiful. It's a necklace in one piece; a thick silver band. It's not tacky at all.   
  
He puts it on and walks over to the bathroom to see it in the mirror.  
  
Vecchio follows him and leans in the doorway. "It looks good on you," he says.  
  
It does. It gives him the exact right masculine edge without overdoing it.  
  
"It's really beautiful," Ray says. "Thank you."  
  
He wants to know why. Because a necklace is a strange present to give to your roommate, even if he is your working partner as well.   
  
But he doesn't ask.  
  
***  
  
Someone is whispering his name: Ray.   
  
It's Ben.  
  
For a moment Ray thinks that a nightmare is haunting him again. But this isn't Inuvik. There's no snow, no goons. He's lying in his bed in Chicago. Ben is sitting on the edge of it. Ben is here. Ben is _back_.  
  
For a second Ray is ecstatic. He switches on the light and sits up straight, ready to throw himself into his lover's arms.  
  
But Ben stands and flees to the corner of the room. "No Ray, we can't ... I'm not ..."  
  
It hits Ray instantly. With a blow that really hurts. "You're not alive. You're a whatsit ... an astral thing. A ghost."  
  
"Yes, Ray."  
  
"What are you doing here?"   
  
Jeez, has he really forgotten how _angry_ he is with Ben for getting killed?  
  
"I wanted to talk to you."  
  
"To congratulate me on my birthday? You're a day late."   
  
Way to go, Ray, snapping at your lover's ghost.  
  
"Well, happy belated birthday, Ray, but that's not the main reason for my being here."  
  
"Then what is, Ben?"   
  
The anger subsides a little. When he sees Ben watching him with that soft expression on his face, his eyes start to sting. God, he's missed that look.  
  
"I'm so proud of you, Ray."  
  
Huh?  
  
"Proud? Why?"  
  
"Because you handle my ... being dead ... so well, Ray."  
  
The anger is back in an instant. Is Ben fucking trying to make it look _okay_ that he's got himself killed? It's not. It fucking hurts.  
  
"I am _not_ forgiving you, Ben," he states.  
  
"Ray ..."   
  
The tone is that familiar mix of exasperation, fondness, and compassion. It brings on memories, which in turn bring on tears.  
  
"God, Ben," he cries, "I would give anything to be able to touch you just once more."  
  
Ben's eyes widen. "O no, Ray. You mustn't say that. It isn't true."  
  
What?!  
  
"If we were to touch each other once more, it would be wonderful, but it wouldn't change matters really, so the end result would be that we would add a dear memory to the ones we already have. Afterwards, we wouldn't miss each other less, Ray."   
  
That is, of course, the correct and sensible way to look at things. Doesn't mean that Ray doesn't yearn to touch Ben, though.  
  
"Besides," Ben says softly, "it wouldn't be worth giving up your friendship with Ray Vecchio, would it?"  
  
Vecchio? What has Vecchio to do with anything?  
  
"He's the reason I came to talk to you tonight," Ben says. He pauses, then starts, "Ray ..."  
  
Ray recognizes the tone. It's the Ray-I'm-going-to-unfold-to-you-one-of-my- widly-bizarre-ideas-and-however-crazy-you-may-think-it-now-you-know-it's- inevitable-that-you'll-admit-that-I'm-right-when-I'm-done-harassing-you-tone.  
  
And maybe it's because he's good at hunches, or maybe it's because of the ghost thing, but he just _knows_ what's inside Ben's head.   
  
"You want us to become lovers," he says incredulously.  
  
"Yes, Ray. Ray loves you."   
  
"He _loves_ me?"  
  
"He does. Haven't you noticed?"  
  
Ray doesn't respond immediately, and of course Ben takes the opportunity to come up with evidence in favor of his point. "If I had gotten your bracelet repaired and given you a necklace as a birthday present, you would have thought a romantic gesture. A token of my love for you. And you would have been right."  
  
"Were you there when he gave them to me?" is all Ray can think of to say.  
  
"No. But I know that at some point during the evening you were struck by the beauty of his eyes."  
  
It's true. Ben is right. Ray doesn't like it.  
  
"Can you read my mind?" he asks, his throat aching.  
  
"Only the important parts."  
  
"That I love you?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"That I miss you?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"That I don't want to let go of you?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Then why are you pushing me?"  
  
"Because I need you to allow yourself to be truly happy," Ben says. "You can, Ray. And you deserve it. And so does Ray Vecchio."  
  
It hurts. This hurts like hell.  
  
"I don't want to replace you," he cries.  
  
"You won't, Ray," Ben says solemnly. "What we had together was very special. It never can be replaced. Your relationship with Ray will be different, but not in any way less precious."  
  
He stirs, like he's going to leave.  
  
"Will I be seeing you again?" Ray asks quickly.  
  
"I'm not sure that would be wise, Ray."  
  
Fuck wise.   
  
Then something crosses his mind.  
  
"Why didn't you show up at all in ten months?"  
  
"I tried to, immediately after I ... ceased to be," Ben says. "But I found I couldn't. It requires skill and strength to materialize. After two months I had mastered those, but-"  
  
"I saw you at the bullpen once," Ray interrupts.  
  
"Yes. You were partnering with Ray Vecchio. I noticed that the two of you were a good duet, and I hoped that it would develop into something more someday. I thought it best not to intervene."  
  
Ray eyes him suspiciously. The Mountie not intervening. Not very fucking likely.  
  
"You didn't by any chance use your ghostly Mountie powers to change him, did you? I mean, I wouldn't recognize him today from the Style Pig I first met."  
  
"I assure you that I had nothing to do with that, Ray," Ben says sincerely. "Ray Vecchio's transformation was his own doing. Well, you helped of course."  
  
"I helped? How?"  
  
"You needed care. You didn't reject what he offered you."  
  
Ray blinks. This is it. He knows it. He has to leap. He doesn't want to.  
  
"I don't think I can do this, Ben."  
  
"Yes, you can, Ray. You're brave. You're braver than anyone I ever met."   
  
Ben stirs. His appearance gets less clear. He's fading.  
  
"No! Ben, don't leave!" Ray lurches from the bed, his arms spread, but they catch nothing. There's a jolt of panic inside and he screams, "Ben! Come back! Please, come back!"  
  
The door swings open, and one magic moment Ray thinks his prayer is heard.  
  
"Stanley, what's wrong?" a worried voice inquires. It's Vecchio's.  
  
Ray doesn't reply. He finds he can't; his teeth have started clattering.  
  
"Stanley." Vecchio seizes him, holds him, strokes his back with long, slow strokes while Ray starts to tremble.  
  
"Another nightmare?" Vecchio asks after a long time.  
  
"No," Ray says. "Yes."   
  
Because there's really no way he can explain about Ben to Vecchio.  
  
"I'm sorry."   
  
Such a soothing voice. It calms him down a little. Enough to realize that he likes the feeling of Vecchio's arms around him.   
  
The situation is very convenient to some. Ray's naked, Vecchio is only wearing a dark blue silk dressing gown. It's a thin gown; it lets through almost all of Vecchio's body heat. He feels warm. Ray likes it. A lot. And he just _knows_ that right now, somewhere a ghost Mountie is sitting on a cloud or something, looking inanely pleased.  
  
The rebellious sixteen-year-old in Ray hates it that it is all going according to the Mountie's plan, but the deprived queer next door pushes the kid aside - and rubs his hardening cock against Vecchio's front.  
  
Shit, he didn't mean to do that. It's just that it has been so long since he touched somebody. It's an involuntary response. But it's wrong, so he tries to pull away. And finds he can't because Vecchio tightens the grip around his back. Ray's cock is met with Vecchio's erection.  
  
Fuck, that's hot.  
  
There's a battle of the Hormones against the Hunches within Ray. The Hormones tell him to go for it, to grind his hips against Vecchio's; quickly, fast, before he wakes up and finds he hasn't made full use of this dream. The Hunches tell him to stop, tell him that this is not a dream and that, if the current situation means anything other than Vecchio being even more pathetically deprived than Ray is, he needs to find out _what_ exactly. He has always been a guy who had hunches. They're his friends.   
  
So he pushes his hips forward once - still hard, both cocks - and leans his upper body back to look at Vecchio. "Is this meant personally?"  
  
The usually green, gold speckled eyes are very dark now, and so is the voice that says, "Yeah, very much so, Stan."  
  
How? Why? _When?_ He wants to ask, but he can't because Vecchio is nibbling at his jaw, which is really destructive to his ability to think of words to say and to his pronunciation.  
  
Ray finds that he tilts his head backwards to give Vecchio better access to his neck, and when his tendon is licked, he moans. Embarrassingly loudly. (Fuck. Has he been deprived, or what?)  
  
Vecchio moves to his collarbone and Ray gasps, but finds the concentration to ask, "What about the gay thing? Doesn't that bother you?"  
  
"What gay thing?" Vecchio mutters against his skin. Then he looks up and after a second or so his expression gets less dazed. "Okay. Talk. Yeah."  
  
"What about the gay thing?" Ray repeats. "I never imagined you being comfortable with that sort of thing."  
  
"Neither did I," Vecchio says, and Ray notices that the guy really knows how to stroke a lower back. "But I do think that I've fallen in love with you." Ray's gaze is bravely held. "You showed me how to feel. I like who I am around you. I like to be close to you. Very much." As to stress this point, Vecchio puts his hands on Ray's hips and presses their crotches together once. Then he continues stroking the small of Ray's back. "It could imply that I'm gay. It could also mean that it's only you. I don't care, Stanley, I really don't care." His expression isn't dazed at all when he says, "I love you. I want to dedicate the rest of my life to that love, if you'll let me. Prejudice and self-loathing are such a waste of time." He strokes Ray's left nipple, still without averting his eyes. "Will you let me? Love you?"  
  
That Italian, not exactly handsome face is very close by. Ray realizes that over time the planes have become really familiar to him. And that the eyes are truly amazing. He notices (once again) how good Vecchio's arms feel around him, and thinks about how the last ten months would have been if the guy hadn't persistently put himself within his reach. He says, "Yeah. Yeah, I will."  
  
It earns him a sloppy, wet, velvet, amazingly hot kiss. When Vecchio pulls back, he's smiling. "You know, Stanley, I think what I need is a crash course in that gay thing you mentioned. Will you teach me how to blow you?"  
  
END 

  
 

* * *

End Chicago Hope by Marcella Polman 

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